


The Doctor and John Smith(s)

by sonic_spoondriver



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Companion!Nine, Gen, Human Ninth Doctor, Ninth Doctor Era, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roleswap, Rose!Doctor, will be less canon compliant as time goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27005956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonic_spoondriver/pseuds/sonic_spoondriver
Summary: “So, you’ve got an interesting accent for a Londoner,”“That’s a bit rich coming from a cockney alien,”John Smith's life is uprooted when a beautiful alien lands in London.(A Doctor/companion roleswap)
Relationships: Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	The Doctor and John Smith(s)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady_of_the_Spirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_the_Spirit/gifts).



> I've been thinking about this AU for the last seven (?) months, ever since I saw lady-of-the-spirit post this on tumblr:  
> https://lady-of-the-spirit.tumblr.com/post/612626099883704320/heres-some-thoughts-i-had-on-that
> 
> This work would not exist without her amazing ideas so definitely check out what she has written for this AU, here and on tumblr.  
> This concept has absolutely consumed me, so I had to get my version on paper — if only so that I can think about something else.
> 
> Enjoy :)

The sky darkened outside as John made his way to the front of the shop. Having had a long and tedious day; he sorely wanted to get home, heat up some leftovers, and forget how desperately lonely he was.

The security guard stopped him at the door, roughly handing him a bag of cash.

"For Wilson."

John wanted to ask why this was his problem, but he merely shrugged and turned back to the lift, grumbling under his breath.

The basement of Henrik's was cold and dark, although this didn't bother John. Knocking on the chief electrician's door, he wondered how much money the man had won this time; he was always collecting lottery winnings, and John recognised today's bag as no different.

"Wilson, you in there?" John groaned, growing impatient as his knocks were left unanswered; they would be closed soon, and he would rather not spend his night in a dark department store. He pushed the door open and lent on the light switch beside it to get a better view of the disorderly room. It was packed with boxes of clothes and half-dressed mannequins. John looked behind a few, half expecting Wilson to leap out from behind a box of t-shirts.

John sighed. "Look, I'm going home. I'll leave the money in the —"

The sudden chilling feeling of something cold on his wrist cut him off. He looked down to see the white hand of one of the mannequins, what a terrible joke. Pulling away from the blank-faced figure, he was shocked to see the now detached arm still clinging to him and, more frighteningly, still moving.

"What the Hell," he breathed, backing away, aware that more of the plastic men were now moving out of the shadows. Another hand grabbed his, but this one was different: small, soft.

"Run." said the girl, and he did.

Arriving in the service lift and closing its metal doors, John finally let himself assess his saviour. She was short and young, definitely no older than twenty, with blonde hair and the biggest eyes he had ever seen.

"Bloody students," he said, settling on a plausible excuse for what he had just seen. Students would do this, pull a large-scale prank on an unsuspecting sales clerk. The nerve of some people. And she must be one of them! He had never seen her working here before and all customers had long since left, why he —

He had forgotten about the arm.

It swung from his wrist and launched itself at his exposed neck, pinning him to the wall of the lift. He tried to pry it off, but it was no use. Then there was a horrendous buzzing, a flash of blue light and the plastic went limp and fell to the floor. John clutched frantically at his throat.

"Still think this is students?" the girl asked cockily, replacing the buzzing device into the pocket of her oversized jacket.

"Ro— Robotics students," he rasped, glaring out her.

"They're living plastic," she said, as they exited the lift leading out of the building. "Autons actually, being controlled by a relay device on the roof -- not that that will be a problem for long," she grinned, brandishing what seemed to be a small bomb. "Now run along home," she insisted, before leaving through the roof access door.

John stepped back perplexed, this woman was mad.

The door opened again as if she had heard his thoughts.

"I'm the Doctor, by the way. What's your name?"

"Um, John," said John.

"Nice to meet you Johnny boy, now run for your life!"

John had seen the explosion from the street. The upper floors of Hendrik's seemed almost obliterated, engulfed in flame. Now, boiling the kettle in his flat, he wondered if the strange woman had made it out okay. He guessed he should call her "the Doctor", although what kind of name was that for a person so young? Regardless, John found himself hoping he would see her again.

He had boiled the kettle three times now without registering it, so distracted by the mystery doctor. He made himself a cup of tea and headed through to the living room. John had never been particularly fond of the drink, but it had become a habit when he was stressed. The calming aroma and warmth reminded him of his mother.

Perched on the coffee table, he turned on the television to see a swell of reporters surrounding Hendrik's department store. He felt a bitter pang of jealousy for his coworkers, who were no doubt receiving panicked phone calls confirming their safety. No one would be calling to see if he was okay, who did he have that cared?

He sighed, switching off the news and resigning himself to making dinner. He would have to look for a new job tomorrow.

The next day John woke at six. His alarm would not go off for another hour, but he had woken up at the same time for the last ten years and his circadian rhythm was set in its ways. He sat up against the headboard gloomily; what was the point in getting up so early if you had nothing to do, no job.

After a while he got up and made his way to the cluttered desk in his living room, usually reserved for doing his taxes. Pulling out a battered laptop, he began to pull up local job listings.

Late that afternoon, John heard a crash from the kitchen. Upon entering, he found the window above the sink wide open, and the various Tupperware containers and recipe books he kept next to it scattered across the floor along with —

"John?" said the Doctor from where she lay, crumpled on the kitchen tile.

"What are you doing in my house?" John asked incredulously.

"Your house? I thought I was following the plastic," she said, rising with a hand to her head as John tried to briefly reorganise the kitchen, shutting the window lest the stranger tried to leave without an explanation.

"Must've got the wrong signal," the girl muttered, slapping a thin device against her hand as if trying to garner a response.

"You had that last night. What is it, a remote?" John said as they moved through to the living room.

"Sonic screwdriver!" she said in a comically deep voice, panning the device around the space, causing John's lights and appliances to blink on and off.

"Stop that! I rent here," he said, snatching the screwdriver from her easily.

"Rude," she frowned and crossed her arms like a child, but John didn't think she cared all that much. He pointed it at the TV, pressing the buttons and trying to replicate the trick.

"How does it work?"

"Well really you just point while thinking about-- hey what am I doing?" she took it back from him quickly, to John's disappointment. She buzzed it around the room again, this time without messing with the electronics.

"Aha!" Her eyes lit up, "I was right, there's definitely living plastic here."

John heard something skittering behind him and turned to see the disembodied arm from before climb out over the back of the sofa. Not wanting a repeat of the previous evening, he leapt forward and grabbed the plastic wrist pinning it to the floor. The Doctor lent down and shoved the sonic screwdriver into the palm of the hand, causing it to cease writhing on the carpet.

"That's 'handy'," said John, grinning goofily up at the Doctor. She looked like she could slap him, then she picked up the arm and did just that. John rubbed his arm and laughed.

Then she stood up, plastic arm slung over her shoulder, and headed towards the front door. 

"Goodbye John Smith," she said. He was about to ask how she knew his name, but then his eyes landed to the messy pile of letters by his door.

"Hey, you can't just leave!"

"Oh, I can."

She 'soniced' the door open causing John to wince. Hopefully, she hadn't broken the latch.

John watched her from the stairs. She walked towards a blue box, he heard a strange noise that was certainly not the wind and it was gone. John blinked. And then again.

And then he ran inside. The laptop was still open from his morning job search. He opened a new tab:  _doctor blue box_ . He was looking up a girl at least half his age; it should have felt dirty, and maybe it would have if she hadn't broken into his flat and then teleported in front of his eyes.

Of the 400 and something results, John picked the top one. The text  _Doctor Who? Do you know this woman?_ was accompanied by a grainy image of the woman he had just seen, complete with oversized leather jacket.

John clicked  _sightings_ and was surprised to see a plethora of images varying in quality and even some drawings, but all of the same girl. One particular image stood out to John captioned  _Daniels family and friend_ . It was dated 1912 and from the photograph quality and clothing, John was inclined to believe it. The Doctor stood next to the family, she was without her coat but it was still distinctly her.

John decided against contacting the owner of the sight. Even if there was some big conspiracy going on he didn't feel comfortable meeting with someone hoarding so many pictures of someone who looked barely out of their teens, even if that did make him a hypocrite for searching for it.

John shut the laptop and pulled his palms over his face. That was enough for one night, and he wanted pizza.

It was busy in the restaurant, and all John wanted to do was collect his pizza and leave. Unfortunately, even the takeaway queue swarmed with hungry customers, so he was going to have to wait longer than preferable for his Hawaiian (extra pineapple).

Next to him in the queue stood a young black man, with short hair and a forced looking grin.

"Hey bro, I'm Mickey," the guy said, extending a hand which John willingly shook.

"John," he replied, letting go of the man's hand and finding it surprisingly smooth.

"Listen, man, pal, bro, mate, I hear you met the Doctor,"

"I'm sorry?" How could this guy know that? Did he know who she was?

"You can trust me, bro, mate, bro. What's the Doctor planning? I can help." Mickey's grin was widening in a way that made John's face hurt.

"I don't know her," John said truthfully.

"Pepperoni pizza?" a waitress asked behind them. John ignored her, too confused by the man in front of him.

"Come on bro, pal," Mickey said again, the nicknames beginning to get under John's skin.

"Look it's gonna get cold if you don't take it," the waitress insisted.

Mickey's smile tightened as he turned to face her. "It's not ours, sugar, babe — oh."

The waitress, who John now saw was the Doctor, brought down the pizza box onto the man's head. The cardboard split to create a ruff around his neck. In the confusion she grabbed his head and twisted it, pulling it off in her hands. The body itself continued to move towards them.

"He was an auto?" John asked, running with the Doctor to the exit.

"That's Auton!" she corrected, smashing the fire alarm with the hand that wasn't holding Mickey's head to clear the restaurant. "I need to use the head to trace the signal; they need a live reference to maintain such a complex image. Let's hope the real guy still has his head attached!"

Outside the restaurant, John recognised the blue box from earlier. The Doctor ushered him in, and he didn't argue, anywhere was safer than out here with that thing.

"Oh fantastic," John breathed, forgetting the danger for a moment as he took in the interior of the box with awe. It was a far sight bigger on the inside, well beyond the realm of smoke and mirrors. Rose-coloured light glowed from a wiring central pillar surrounded by a console covered in buttons and levers and what could only be categorised as gizmos. The rounded brassy walls were covered in circles emitting the same rosy light, and crystalline arches supported a circular walkway above them.

"So... bigger on the inside..." John started.

"There it is!" The Doctor grinned, panic seemingly forgotten.

"And — and alien?"

"Oh, he's smart this one,"

"And you are too?" She nodded.

"It's called the TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space."

John had to hold on to one of the crystal pillars to balance himself. While they had been talking, the Doctor had wired up the plastic head to the console, and now it was doing something John had not expected.

"Doctor, is it safe to assume that that's not supposed to be melting?"

"No, no, no! Hopefully, I can still catch the signal," She began frantically pulling levers and John heard the strange breathy sound he had heard back at the flat, realising now that this was some sort of alien thruster for the TARDIS or something. He followed the Doctor out of the box and was surprised to find that they had moved. They were now right beside the Thames; this must have been how the Doctor had vanished before.

"The Auton will have melted along with the head," the Doctor muttered, looking out over the river, "hopefully it didn't cause too much of a ruckus back there."

"What do these things have against us, anyway?" John asked from beside her.

"Oh, nothing! It loves you — well, loves your planet. Full of smoke, oil, toxins, et cetera. Perfect snack for the Nestene Consciousness. All its protein planets were destroyed in the Time War, Earth just so happens to be the next runner up."

"Okay so how do we have that not happen?"

"Anti-plastic!" she said, once again utilising her parody voiceover tone, pulling out a test tube of blue liquid. "But first we need to find the transmitter, how it's been controlling everything. Should be big, round, like a metal dish of some sort. Can't think where they could be hiding it."

John was staring over the Doctor's shoulder. "Doctor."

"Could be invisible I guess, but that seems —"

John clasped her shoulders and turned her to face the London Eye on the opposite bank.

"Oh,"

John lent on the outside of the TARDIS as a terrified, and very real, Mickey kissed the ground. He had been tied up in a chamber beneath the London Eye by the Jabba-the-Hutt-esque Nestene Consciousness. The Doctor had hoped not to kill the Nestene, but when it came down to it John had pored the blue anti-plastic onto the creature in a last-ditch effort to save them all. It turned out Mickey was a Smith as well and didn't seem nearly as annoying as his plastic counterpart, although John could tell he did not take well to danger.

"Guess I'll be off then," The Doctor said, leaning around the door of the Tardis, her hair gold in the light from a streetlamp. John frowned.

"Unless you'd like to come with? This thing isn't London bound, it can go anywhere in —"

"Time and space right? Like in the name," John said straightening up.

"Exactly," she grinned, "so how about it?"

"Who the hell would say no to that?" It was not like he had anything to tie him here.

And so they left, leaving Mickey to hug the tarmac below him.

John looked out of the window at his empty home planet. The view from the space station made Earth seem much smaller than he had ever thought to consider.

He had run away with a teenager. Was this what a midlife-crisis looked like?

“So, you’ve got an interesting accent for a Londoner,” said the Doctor from beside him.

“That’s a bit rich coming from a cockney alien,” John retorted. She seemed to like that, smiling impishly up at him.

“I’m from Manchester really,” he backtracked, “only moved to London a few years ago.”

He looked at her again. The doors to the TARDIS were open, casting that pale rose-hued light across the observation deck, painting the Doctor as a vision in pink.

“Doctor, can I ask —” He hesitated, not quite sure he wanted to know “— how old are you?”

“Older than you’d like,” John scoffed at this, willing her to continue.

“Around 900, at last count.”

John shook his head. “Years? Come off it.”

“Well, Earth years,” she said, scratching her head. “Spend so much time down there that it’s easier to use local dating.”

“You’re serious? God, and here I was thinking myself a cradle snatcher!” He had to laugh at that, and then he faltered.

“Not that — I don’t mean to assume but —”

“John,” she said directly, slipping her hand into his, “I stole you away in my space box, you’re not making any assumptions,” and then she turned away and walked through the sliding doors to the rest of the station.

They met aliens, danced to tainted love, almost died and eventually saved the day (which seemed to be the usual with the Doctor), and then they were off again.


End file.
